


Where we stood, saying I

by keysmash



Series: Supernatural s5 Codas [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: spn_30snapshots, Episode Related, Episode: s05e01 Sympathy for the Devil, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-03
Updated: 2010-01-03
Packaged: 2017-10-05 17:01:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keysmash/pseuds/keysmash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In those years, people will say, we lost track<br/>of the meaning of we, of you<br/>we found ourselves<br/>reduced to I</p><p>from Adrienne Rich's "<a href="http://community.livejournal.com/deux_mille_mots/13098.html">In Those Years</a>"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where we stood, saying I

**Author's Note:**

> Sympathy for the Devil coda. Written for prompt 1 of my [](http://community.livejournal.com/spn_30snapshots/profile)[**spn_30snapshots**](http://community.livejournal.com/spn_30snapshots/) [table](http://latentfunction.livejournal.com/349450.html). Beta by [](http://bansidhe.livejournal.com/profile)[**bansidhe**](http://bansidhe.livejournal.com/). Title from Adrienne Rich.

Dean did not slam the door getting back into the car. The lot was almost silent in his wake, and Sam looked over his shoulder, towards Bobby, before holding his ground and waiting for Dean to jump, one way or the other.

He watched the Impala sit, idle and glowing between the stripes, until Dean tapped the horn twice and waved Sam forward without turning in his seat. Sam counted his steps: seven back to the passenger door, one ducking slide inside, and then he was stuck in shotgun, with the entire bench seat between he and Dean.

Dean drove with his jaw tight and both hands on the wheel. He watched the road spool out in front of them without checking the right side mirror, or the right blind spot. He didn't put on any music and so Sam didn't, either. By the time they reached the motel, Sam sat turned into his own window, watching the neon pass and keeping his hands to himself.

"I wanna head out in the morning," Dean said, when he pulled in. He parked quick and efficiently, swinging the car where it belonged, and then cut off the engine. He was halfway inside before Sam bothered to unbuckle. Sam let the seatbelt clink against the doorframe while he watched Dean, turning into a silhouette as he walked towards the motel's light.

Sam glanced up and down the street, at the signs and the empty staircase, and then followed his brother.

Dad had etched the importance of hanging the do-not-disturb sign almost as deeply as Castiel marked them, so the room was still trashed when Sam came inside. Dean glanced up when the door opened but then went back to toeing through the mess between the beds. Sam watched him for a moment, then came all the way inside.

"You wanna get a pizza or something?" Sam asked.

Dean shrugged. He didn't look over. "Not really hungry. You go ahead, though."

Sam sighed, then brushed off his own bedspread to sit beside the bedside table. The drawer held a phonebook instead of a Bible and Sam picked the first pizza place whose name he didn't recognize.

_One old voicemail_, his phone prompted him, before it would let him dial. _Save or delete?_

Sam pressed the green button under _Save_ without looking to the other bed, then called.

He joined Dean once he hung up. They pulled their own stuff out of the mess, then shoved the sharper bits of broken motel into the corner of the room. Sam left a twenty on top of the pile for the maid with the bad luck of working their floor the next afternoon.

Dean's coverlet lay in a pile on the floor, bundled in on itself so that whatever had been on top of the bed was wrapped away. Dean rested against the headboard with his arms crossed. He held the remote with one hand propped against the other elbow and he clicked past the news stations without pausing.

Sam'd ordered two pizzas, one supreme and the other loaded down with only meat. When they came, Dean looked over but didn't get up.

The cheese was melty when he pulled off his first slice, the veggies crunchy between his teeth, the crust thin and crispy. Sam ate without getting anything to drink, until he finally felt pleasantly full. He left the boxes open, so the scent filled the room, but Dean never reached between the beds for his own slice. When Sam gave up, and stacked the boxes on the table before brushing heading to the bathroom, the meat lover's pizza was still untouched.

Whatever had zapped Sam into that airplane also sent the gear he'd carried, with Ruby, into the cargo hold. His stuff had been the first onto the baggage carousel, followed directly by Dean's. Sam opened his doc kit and found everything she'd bought for him still there – floss, heavy bottle of shampoo, toothbrush, razors, shaving gel, whitening toothpaste, mouthwash, deodorant, body wash.

He brought the shampoo and body wash into the shower with him, but when he snapped the lid open, the smell – a generic drugstore almost-floral, one of the nameless brands he'd used his entire life – filled the tiny space. Sam nearly dropped the bottle. _Scent is the sense strongest tied to memory_, said some old detergent commercial, and he didn't know how he could remember TV ads when the shampoo called up, perfectly, the smell in Ruby's car when she'd driven with her hair still damp, fresh from a shower they'd shared.

Sam's mouth watered before he could close the shampoo. He told himself it was nausea, nothing else, and leaned around the curtain to chunk the bottles into the trashcan. Dean's stuff was still in his bag, at the foot of his bed, so Sam snagged the complementary bottles and washed up with them. The toothpaste tasted wrong as well, after Sam dried off, but habit was habit. He stood at the sink with a towel around his waist and counted teeth as he brushed his teeth, flossed, gargled, flossed again, and then rinsed his mouth.

The room was dark when he came back out. The TV was muted, flashing silently across the room, and Dean slept where Sam left him. Sam stared for a moment – the uncomfortable angle of his neck, his arms tight around his own body, his boots hanging heavily against the sheet – then swallowed hard and got into his own bed. He left the TV on, and slept.

When Sam went for leftovers the next morning, he found half the pizza gone after all. Dean finished packing without meeting Sam's eyes, but he moved all the slices to one box and carried it to the car himself. The box rode between them and took up all the extra space in the bench seat. Neither of them touched it until noon, when Dean pulled out a single piece and ate without taking his eyes from the road.


End file.
